"Gee! but I'm tired playing that tune," called
the phonograph, speaking through its horn in
a brazen, scratchy voice. "If you don't mind,
Pipt, old boy, I'll cut it out and take a rest."

The Magician looked gloomily at the music-
machine.

"What dreadful luck!" he wailed, despondently.
"The Powder of Life must have fallen on the
phonograph."

He went up to it and found that the gold bottle
that contained the precious powder had dropped
upon the stand and scattered its life-giving
grains over the machine. The phonograph was very
much alive, and began dancing a jig with the legs
of the table to which it was attached, and this
dance so annoyed Dr. Pipt that he kicked the thing
into a corner and pushed a bench against it, to
hold it quiet.

"You were bad enough before," said the Magician,
resentfully; "but a live phonograph is enough to
drive every sane person in the Land of Oz stark
crazy."

"No insults, please," answered the phonograph in
a surly tone. "You did it, my boy; don't blame
me."